Adventures in Ferelden: A Compilation
by theRealSeal
Summary: This is the story of our brave adventurers told from their points of view during various points of their lives. Unlike George R.R. Martin's dragonly stories of a similar kind, our heroes live to see the sun shine and the threat to their land end; one even manages to raise a family. Here lies the Rowan Cousland team's glorious tales of might and Blight.
1. Chapter 1: The Noble

_Hello Ferelden! My name is Rowan Cousland and this is my story._

**PART I: THE NOBLE**

_Journal Entry #1_

_My story is not a particularly happy one. In fact, it downright sucks darkspawn balls. I used to live a relatively happy life at Cousland Castle (alright, it's really Cousland Estate, but considering its massive walls and towering gates, I assume it should be rightfully called the Castle), poking guards, bribing our elven servants to do stupid things like dropping a boar down the chimney, and wrecking havoc in the soup kitchen with my dog Wonderwall._

_It all came crashing down with my introduction to Duncan, the Grey Warden. I didn't think he was a particularly imposing man – I daresay his fancy boots and thick black mustache have nothing in comparison to my epic brown sideburns and studded heels. Duncan, the man who dragged me away from everything I once knew during the battle between my family and Howe's men, became the gateway source that would transpose me from one misery to the next._

_Along came the siege at Ostagar. From what I recall, the fort had always held its ground in the past (excluding the sacking by the Chasind) and never given sway to invaders – but not during this Blight. For the first time in my entire existence, I witnessed the awful destructive power of the darkspawn horde and watched as many of my comrades fell to their blades (and teeth). I recall crossing the massive bridge amidst the chaos of battle as men readied their ballistae and fired them below where battalions of darkspawn catapulted flamed boulders at us. Like a true Grey Warden, Alistair whinnied out of the way when one such rock struck the floor behind me as we were crossing, throwing me hard against the ground. He proceeded to dash to the other end while I hastily made my way back up to my feet. _

_What was left of the aftermath was not forthcoming – Morrigan's mother made clear to us that if Ferelden were to survive the Blight, the Grey Wardens had to be reunited to their former glory. To make things worse, the cheese prince Alistair suggested that we use the treaties to collect the forces that were once lost to us to stand against the Archdemon. Ha! I've never heard a more perverse proposal in my life (my realization of Morrigan's existence officially ranks second in my book). _

Fast forward a couple of weeks and here we are at Redcliffe, post – creepy walking corpse's battle at the hills. Ah, Redcliffe…after a long, grueling trek across thief – infested highways, who possibly wouldn't wish for her welcoming smell of tuna and shrimp. The last time I stood up close to a fisherman, my nose instinctively escaped into a bucket of refreshing cold water and did not resurface for an hour. Oh look, Alistair wants to talk to me…

"Sir Rowan," Alistair said (I had commanded the cheese prince to address me as such). "Bann Teagan summons you from the windmill."

"What a surprise," I replied nonchalantly. "When has anyone ever forgone an opportunity to speak to a Cousland?"

Wonderwall barked and wagged his tail happily. No doubt he wants to crawl under some fences and dig turnips.

"Get lost, you," I told him as he scuffled away to the fishing village. "Alright my prince; lead on."

We walked up several flights of stairs up the hill to the windmill. By the second set of stairs I found myself breathing rather heavily…

_Must be the equipment we're carrying. No! I'm wearing my splintmail armor, and Alistair is wearing a heavier set of chainmail. This can't be, have I gotten flimsier? Must be, considering what he is capable of turning people into with his brainless jokes. Damn the bastard!_

"There you are," Teagan called from his post as we approached him. "Given the opportunity, I would not be averse to celebrating our victory from last night. But I'm afraid we're losing time and the castle remains as closed as before."

"What's the plan?" Alistair asked.

"I believe this problem may be more ominous than we think," said Teagan. "I…Maker's breath!"

He pointed behind us. Turning around, we saw a woman and a soldier running frantically in our direction.

"Teagan! Oh, Teagan, thank the Maker you yet live - !" the woman gasped.

"This is unexpected! What's happened, Isolde?" Teagan pleaded.

"Something…terrible…" Isolde whispered. "Connor…he's in trouble."

"Now now, let's not talk about this as if we're not present," I interrupted. "Sir Rowan Cousland and Prince Alistair at your service."

"Alistair…you're alive…"

"Yes. Although I won't be for long if Loghain keeps his tab on us. Not that it's important right now," said Alistair.

"Please, Teagan. I need your help. I need you to enter the castle with me, alone," Isolde went up to him and clasped her hands together. "I beg you."

"Is this necessary, my lady?" I asked.

She shot me a scornful, un-nobly glance.

"This is a very personal situation. Hero or not, I for one do not find your impetuous demeanor very welcoming."

"Well that's mighty pithy of you. Is your entire family like this, Alistair?"

"For Connor's sake…Teagan must go. Alone," Isolde reiterated.

"In case you haven't noticed, we were the ones responsible for driving out the foul creatures of the night," I replied curtly. "I think that's deserving of an invitation into the king's court, yes?"

"Of course she hasn't noticed! She's been trapped in the castle the whole time!" Alistair explained.

_Ah, yes…that's…true…_

"Very well. I shall go for Connor's sake. Can we have a word first?" Teagan beckoned us closer while Isolde stepped away.

"Brilliant plan, jumping into the lion's den," I scoffed.

"If this is what I must do, I will ensure that it be done. In the meantime there's a secret passageway just underneath the windmill – use it to enter the castle carefully. Perhaps I will distract whatever is inside that castle."

"No! We can't let you do this!" Alistair retaliated.

"For Connor's sake, and for Isolde and Arl Eamon's, I'm counting on you both. You have proven yourselves worthy warriors of Redcliffe, and so I trust you. Whatever happens, remember that Isolde, the others and I are expendable. Arl Eamon and Connor must be saved."

_Teagan, expendable? Why am I not surprised? Although it does make our task much easier…_

With that he proceeded to follow Isolde to the castle, leaving Alistair and I at the front of the windmill.

"You don't think there's blood magic at work?" he asked me quietly.

_Ptsh! Blood magic?!_

"From what I recall, blood magic involves manipulation of blood," I answered dully.

"AND blood – induced death from within the body!"

"The corpses had no blood."

Alistair paused, no doubt confounded by his own stupidity.

"Oh, right. But don't you think we should get Morrigan to come along? You know, have a mage just in case."

"You're actually suggesting Morrigan's company! I am impressed. Don't worry, Alistair, I'm sure your templar skills will prove a match to whatever demonic forces are inside…"

_Suffice to say, Alistair, Wonderwall, and I were eventually beaten to a pulp. To add to the embarrassment, Morrigan emerged from the entire mess unscathed and had to drag our wearied bodies into the room where Connor, Isolde, and a dancing, entranced Teagan were waiting. The knights, at least, did their jobs cleaning out the possessed guards in the room. Morrigan's blatant refusal to engage in the scuffle, combined with the Bann's obvious failure at being useful after all our efforts to infiltrate the castle, rattled my nerves enough to serve as motivation for bludgeoning the dancing idiot into the floor with my shield. Typically of him, Alistair remained unconscious when Teagan was back to his senses and we realized that Connor was the source of our troubles. Misery ensued when Isolde called forth the blood mage and suggested that she sacrifice her life to save Connor. Such is Alistair's family._


	2. Chapter 2: Glory Days

_Journal Entry #2_

_Considering the extent which our ancestral history is comprised of tales of victory and grandeur, it is no wonder that the Couslands are adept at most everything to do with battle. Our prowess with swords has been documented since the slaying of werewolves during the Black Age and our skill with the bow has been demonstrated since the overtaking of Harper's Ford during the Orlesian occupation; but I digress. For here I stood after two great battles as living proof of the Couslands' continued glory, untouched by the vile, blackened steel of the servants of evil and undefeated by the life – draining black magic of darkspawn emissaries – _

"Your lordship, I present to you…your encampment!"

Bodahn Ferric (finally) removed the blindfold over my eyes as Sandal clapped happily at his side. Blinking, I let my eyes adjust to the dimness of night and was quite thrilled to see facing me a long feast table with chairs, and several hoisted Cousland banners surrounding the perimeter of the area.

"Ah, excellent my friend! An encampment fit for a Grey Warden team at last," I announced, welcoming the scene heartily.

"Enchantment!" Sandal gleefully replied (not that he was capable of saying much of anything else).

"All we need now is some glitter and shine, and we'll be ready to do justice to the evil enroaching upon our land in true epic fashion!"

"Right, because drawing attention to our resting stations is the perfect way to start," Alistair replied in his traditional sarcasm as he walked over to join us.

"Don't worry Alistair, I've wasted no time in decorating your tent as well," I pointed to the structure behind him.

Alistair turned to look at his new decorations.

"What - ?! What did you - ?!" Alistair sputtered, wearing an expression uncannily resembling that of a constipated hurlock.

_Apparently he didn't find his improvements very satisfying, as the unhappy prince ran up to his sleeping area and immediately tore down the large, glittering banner we had so painstakingly created with Sandal's enchanting abilities._

"Hey! That took us a night's work and a pole to the head, you know!" I retaliated.

"'_Strawberry Shortcakes and Sweet Dreams'?!" _Alistair retorted, holding the banner in his hands. "What does this suggest, some kind of fairy tale princess - ?!"

"Well, not exactly. We just sought for a more homely design befitting a person of royalty, that's all."

"Not at all. We just thought you needed it, after all those comments about the _terrible_ nightmares you've been having," Morrigan added. "I personally think it's rather flattering."

Alistair grumbled, shaking out the enchanted glitter on his hands.

_Of course, the poor prince never understood how lucky he was to be bestowed such a title, even if it pegged him a royal bastard. I imagine it is his personal feelings of shame and ineptitude, but even such assumptions should not have been astounding enough as to prevent him from being useful every once in a while. Indomitable as we Couslands are, the discomforting fact that we had to drag his unconscious body out from a trap set by a murderous group of genlock rogues the other day did no justice to our reputation. Just ask Sten. _

"Now everyone, let us discuss our plans," I motioned at the table. "Yes, Morrigan and Wonderwall, that includes you…"

"Must this table be so unsymmetrical? It's rather uncomfortable having to sit at a corner," Leliana said.

_Although I very much valued Bodahn's endeavor to secure enough forest wood to make a standing table, I had not anticipated such little room. We had acquired quite a few followers over the recent months indeed._

"Ah, I did not see that nook there…" I admitted as I found myself scratching my chin haphazardly.

"This chair is lopsided!" Morrigan complained.

"That's it! Back to the pine – ridden ground, everyone. This is giving me a headache – "

We sat and looked over the traveling map while measuring the distance to Denerim, our next destination.

"Denerim is about two day's trek, if we go on without rest," Leliana explained, Wonderwall barking excitedly at her side. "We'll likely meet plenty of darkspawn on the way."

"From what our inventory checklist is telling me, we're running low on supplies," I noted.

"Not quite like the 'knights of the round table' story that you expected?" Alistair quipped.

_T'is true, had it not been for his mention of the legendary tale, we would have proceeded to bypass Denerim's best – hidden secret and sorely missed the opportunity to acquire a truly revered artifact…_

"Not like King Arthur's court, you say? Well, we can't have that, for a Cousland and his Grey Warden team trumps the legend of King Arthur anytime!" I replied proudly. "Speaking of King Arthur, I've heard rumors recently of his sword taking residence within Ferelden, but I don't remember where or how…"

"Of course!" Leliana said excitedly. "That bard tale about Excalibur, how could I forget? It has been said that shortly after the first creation of the storm of the century, an unexplained shift in time and space unraveled within the mountains bordering Denerim and shook the very earth beneath the seas. After the Long Winter, some travelers have sworn that they witnessed Excalibur's presence and attributed the city's misfortunes to the Maker's might. Some people believe it was punishment for men's greed and their ignorance of honor over their insatiable ambition for material wealth – "

" – which coincidentally contributed to Denerim's rise in power in the first place…" Alistair commented.

"The great sword Excalibur, housed within the walls of Ferelden's capital! This is a quest we must not miss – " I breathed.

"Excuse me, Grey Warden," Sten interrupted.

There was a long pause.

"_Sten_, so glad of you to join us! We missed you," I replied to him (possibly for the first time in days). "You've been silent for quite some time, I was worried they didn't feed you enough back in the cage…"

"They didn't. But that is not my concern. This sword you mention; have you any evidence of its current existence?"

_Admittedly, we didn't._

I turned to Leliana, but she merely shrugged.

"It is only a tale, like that of the Urn of Sacred Ashes," she continued. "But it has drawn many glory – seekers to their untimely deaths, that I am sure of."

"Tsh. Out of disappointment, it seems," Morrigan scoffed. "I think we have better things to do than to chase such idle tales of fantasy."

"Who knows, the seekers might have incited the Maker's wrath," Alistair poked. "We'd best stay away from it."

_Maker's wrath or not, the possibility of finding the prize was too good to ignore. We packed the next morning and immediately set off for Denerim; besides, if no one in history had come to claim it, what better alternative was there than to have its purpose suited for the war against the Blight?_


	3. Chapter 3: The Pearl

_To tell the truth, I never really imagined the Blight to be as threatening as it seemed. After all Cailan's army had nearly won over the darkspawn back in Ostagar, had Loghain not duped him. Still, we've had more than our share of darkspawn of days late; they would spring up from the shadows whenever we crossed a highway, or ambush us near the edges of deserted paths. With Loghain presiding over Denerim, our task of rebuilding the army seemed at most futile; sometimes it was hard telling which threat was greatest._

"I know I'm not one to say, but why is this called the Green Blade when it's not exactly green?" Alistair asked, examining the hilt of his weapon.

"Well Alistair, they say that one's blade is a direct reflection of its wielder," I replied as we trudged along the Long Road.

"Ahaha, yes, Alistair being green, very funny. Why do I keep thinking we've been at this before?"

"Look, up ahead," warned Sten.

We witnessed a rather beautiful disarray of overturned carriages and wooden crates a few meters ahead, blocking the path. Sten unsheathed Asala from his back in precaution when a plainly – dressed woman came running up to us.

"Oh thank the Maker, we need help. They attacked the carriages! I'll bring you to them," she breathed nervously.

"Is it just me, or does this mess look too convenient to be an accident?" I pondered quietly as she beckoned us over.

"Keep your eyes peeled," said Sten.

_Sten was right. We had walked into a smartly placed trap assembled by none other than the Crows, although the lure of their cart goodies was admittedly too good to neglect. We took out the assassins one by one (with Sten falling first, unsurprisingly), but not without expending some health poultices and broken limbs despite Wynne's presence. Still, I suppose I should be glad for not having a tree over me…_

"I'd like some questions answered," I commanded over their beaten elf leader. "Who hired you?"

"A rather taciturn fellow by the name of Loghain, as I recall," the blond elf answered.

_Loghain. His tomfoolery had gone overboard at last._

I asked Zevran if we could expect the same amount of loyalty from him after our interrogation, much to Alistair's shock.

"You needn't bother. If Loghain is sending the Crows after us, I think it'd be a good idea to know about their insider operations," I responded.

"Right…I think I see your point," Alistair replied, before proceeding to mumble something about 'insanity' and 'desperation'.

_When we reached Denerim, we proceeded first to Alistair's sister's house. Nervous as a frog, Alistair insisted that I come with him, although my presence did little to inspire spirits during the meeting._

"And who is this man? A servant?" Goldanna asked, brows furrowed.

"No, he is my friend, and a Grey Warden, respectfully," Alistair explained.

"A Grey Warden and a prince, eh? Come to assert your royal asses, then?"

"Uh, he…just wanted to see his family," I persuaded Goldanna, who still looked as if a shade had come knocking on her doorstep.

"Brother or not, Alistair, I've not had the same fortunate fate as you. I have five mouths to feed, so you'll excuse me for not being very inviting," she snapped.

_The meeting ended without much of a wonder factor, as Alistair had hoped. We stood outside in the Denerim Marketplace looking anything but Wardenly, which possibly helped to disguise us from Loghain's cronies._

"I'm sorry it turned out like this, Alistair," I said.

"Yes, I'm sorry too. I just didn't know…I thought she'd be happy to see me. Isn't that what family is about?"

"Not always."

"Ah, maybe it's just me. Wishful thinking. Let's just forget this happened and move on," he said solemnly.

_But we couldn't have Mr. Rainclouds dragging us down when there was fun to be had. I ushered him to the guard post to sign up for Sergeant Kylon's "cleaning" duties, which involved running out a group of thuggies from The Pearl. To that end the cheese prince pondered the meaning of the word "brothel"…_

"Why is it called a brothel? There isn't any broth…is there?"

"Alistair, quit derping."

"Haha, now that's more like it!" Zevran commented happily on Alistair's return to his inquisitive self.

Once there, I managed to persuade the White Falcons out of staying within the facility, thankfully, and when I finally couldn't help myself, proceeded to ask about Alistair's history…

"During your stay in the Chantry, have you never…?"

"Never…what? Changed the bed lamps? Baked a pie?"

"You know what I mean."

Alistair's eyes narrowed mischievously.

"Well, that was unexpected. I suppose you _would_ ask. Tell me, have _you _ever licked a lamppost in winter?"

"No I haven't," I replied curtly.

"Good. Don't try it; there was a fellow in my quarter who did it on a dare; painful, blistering stuff."

"Well Alistair, unlike you, I've had a life living the pains of nobility. You never know when a darkspawn would come up asking for an autograph."

_After a while we scattered throughout the premises (much to Zevran's great satisfaction) in search of the artifact we had come for. I know not how we came to search for it here of all places, but it seemed like the right place to start…_

"Zevran, have you found any clues?" I asked after several hours of rummaging, picking locks and dismantling loose floorboards.

"What? You really think this, ah, _Excalibur _still exists?" he asked, taking a sip from his Antivan wine at a table.

"What gives? Admit it, it's not like you didn't want to come here in the first place."

"Haha, I see you've bested me again. Well, I did hear one elven woman mentioning about a long – lost secret. After all who would pay attention to such tales when surrounded by so many beauties – "

"Long – lost secret, where?"

"How should I know? They might just be referring to their – "

"Oh, spare me the indignity already and help me vent out some frustration for a change - !"

_That was when Leliana approached us from the locked bedroom she was searching, beaming._

"Come quickly! You won't believe what I found," she said excitedly.

"What? Where?"

She led us to the fancy V.P. room and to the spot where she had been digging underneath the wooden floor.

"It was underneath the cabinet, and covered in dust."

"Shut the door, Zevran!"

We rummaged through the dust and straws of hay until our fingers met something solid. Curiosity spiking, I took one of the wooden boards and prodded the mysterious object below us.

"Ah, I can help you with that," Zevran commented, reaching in the gap with his hands. "Now let's see, how best to do this…"

After several minutes, Zevran had picked up a long, purple wooden box. Dusting it off, he placed it on a nearby table as we examined its finely carved archaic decorations of an ancient time long gone.

"Can this be – "Leliana gasped.

"Open it," said Zevran.

_Sure enough, the fantastical sword lay gleaming before us, looking as if it had been newly sharpened despite its age. Its size was that of a slightly larger longsword, but the plainness of the hilt was offset by a slight glow radiating from the blade. _

"Ah, come to daddy now…" I said admiringly, picking up the sword carefully. "Now _this _is a weapon to behold – "

"You're not planning to use it?" Leliana asked. "I don't even feel worthy to touch it, and hardly enough to use it against darkspawn."

"No, it's not for petty battles, but it shall stay in our encampment for the best. Bodahn and Sandal will have something new to worship…"


	4. Chapter 4: The Urn Part I

"It's…marvelous…" I stared awestruck at the legendary Excalibur's box that was now magically locked and placed amongst the mountain pile of the party's items.

"Don't cry now, or it just might explode from ravishment," Alistair jibed.

"I'm not crying, just a little elated…Isn't life wonderful, going from one legendary expedition to the next…"

"Only this time we know for sure that the Urn of Sacred Ashes may not even exist," said Leliana. "But who knows, I could be wrong."

"Really, by the time you could even hope to find it, the darkspawn would have overrun half of Ferelden," Morrigan said, crossing her arms while Zevran and Sten added several fresh new logs to the campfire nearby.

"Which isn't a surprise, considering what we're doing now to unite the army isn't much," I added. "Where's the harm in even considering the Urn's existence? We might even get to loot some darkspawn corpses on the way."

"Well, if the dwarves have time to fight amongst each other for the throne, then I suppose the darkspawn army is still at bay," admitted Alistair. "Really though, we stand no chance against Loghain without Arl Eamon, so I'd say the decision is clear."

"Just hope there aren't any high dragons involved."

Unfolding the map, Alistair marked a destination west of Sulcher's Pass with a small pin. After the confrontation at the Spoiled Princess Inn at Lake Calenhad, the clues picked up suggested that Brother Genitivi's research had expanded far into uncharted territory and into the inner reaches of the Frostback Mountains.

"We'll start at the small village there. Just make sure we've got enough food before setting off," I said.

_The Village of Haven turned out to be a rather unsettling place, at least. After hiking many miles through the snow – capped mountains and risking avalanches, our destination was just as cold, barren and unwelcoming. There were little clues as to Brother Genitivi's whereabouts, but the village's suspicious activity caught my attention. Evidence of blood rituals, kidnapping and the occult freshened our interests (after all we do not easily hear of such things in Highever) and eventually brought us face – to – face with the village leader, another brainwashing mage lunatic. We took him out without hesitation, and then discovered a secret entrance into the back of the village church, where Brother Genitivi was laying helpless and crippled…_


	5. Chapter 5: The Urn Part II

_Brother Genitivi led us deeper into the mountains; despite his condition, he was a remarkably agile man. Shamelessly, Alistair continued about pouting and complaining of the cold, while Wynne mended his socks and Morrigan trudged along nonchalantly._

"How much further?" I asked.

"The temple is right up this mountain. It can't be far," Genitivi replied, limping along as I supported him with my left shoulder. "I apologize, this trail has been weathered and is generally considered off the beaten track – "

"Ah, it is quite alright. I have no issue with it, but Alistair here…"

"Are we there yet? My feet are getting numb," Alistair whined.

"Oh, quit your complaining, Alistair. You are accompanying two old individuals and yet they have more energy than you," Wynne answered, repairing the last sock.

"What an embarrassment," Morrigan chimed. "At last, tis to be expected from our cheese prince…"

"Here we are," Brother Genitivi let go of my shoulder and stepped toward the edge of a towering rock wall. At first glance, one could not distinguish the inconspicuous icy wall from the others. As we got closer, several faintly etched markings appearing of an ancient language became visible along the wall, covered in snow and ice.

"The language of the Tevinter Imperium," Genitivi explained, brushing aside the snow. "This wall here is not what it seems."

_Alistair and I looked at each other with blank expressions. Despite countless hours of lecture with the old man Aldous back in Castle Cousland, my memory of the ancient Tevinter language remained hazy at best. _

"Uh, I think…it says something along the lines of 'Trespassers beware'?" I suggested meekly.

"No."

Brother Genitivi bent down to his knees (Alistair winced slightly) with some difficulty and bowed before the ancient carvings.

"Good sir, don't put any more weight on that leg," Wynne professed.

"_Its gates forever shut, heaven has been filled with silence. I knew then, and cross'd my heart with shame. Andraste, hear my plea."_

_To our great surprise, a slight rumble permeated the earth around us, and the rocks shifted in each direction as piles of snow fell to reveal a secret entrance just enough for one man to pass through. _

"Maker, did it absolutely have to suggest an avalanche?" Alistair replied in shock.

"Come, let us proceed," Genitivi beckoned, straightening up.

_He led us to the entrance; with smart tinkering of the amulet key we had acquired from the cultists, the door was opened. Before us stood the might of the Tevinter Imperium, the grand ice palace that I knew from the books I read as a child about the legendary Temple of Andraste. All of a sudden, the Urn's presence did not seem so far – fetched._

"Ah, to see this with my very own eyes…" Genitivi breathed, his face glowing.

"We have to be careful now," I suggested, remembering the cultists.

"Ah, yes, excuse me. I believe, however, that if the Urn is indeed found, it will further authenticate my research. Of course, under better conditions, I would accompany you, but I think you have proven yourself to be a much more worthy example. I will stay here and examine the carvings for the time being."

"But…oh, alright. Just hide if you see anything suspicious, we really don't want to come back to find your mangled corpse in the snow," I said.

"I will be waiting."

"Tis most interesting. I wonder what manner of beasts lie within these ruins," Morrigan commented.

"You're not suggesting dragons and man – eating bats, are you?" Alistair replied, putting on his mended socks.

"Surely for a place this ancient, there are secrets that have yet to be found."

"Yes. Let's just hope that secret is the Urn we're looking for," I said.


	6. Chapter 6: The Urn Part III

"Blood mages!" I remarked. "What in the Maker's name are they doing here? There's enough people to fill a Lothering– "

"They are misled cultists," Morrigan commented. "Genitivi warned us that we weren't alone."

"Not to sound draconic, but shouldn't we be taking hostages instead? Maybe they know a thing or two about the Urn," said Alistair.

_Luckily the need never became, since all our encounters were fights forced upon us, whether by crazed Viking lunatics or arcane horrors. One could expect no less from a place of devout prayer._

_Two hours later…_

"Falon'Din's getting impatient!" I fired an arrow square at a mature dragon's jaw before Alistair charged into the mob fight. Before long we were left standing scorched in the middle of a large empty cavern clearing, bloody dragon corpses and cultist bodies lying about around us.

"Take this, Alistair. It's a nicely carved demon statue," I said to break the awkward silence and handed him the figurine. "It's for saving my ass back there."

"For me? Really? Wow!" Alistair accepted the gift with glee and brushed aside dragon filth from it. "Another morbid reminder of dark times to add to my collection…"

"You're a full templar now. Your anti - magic skills are never more needed against these creeps. Of course, not referring to Wynne or Morrigan," I added quickly.

"Right. And since I'm wearing the ridiculously overpriced Knight - Commander's plate, I can pretend to be Commander over our little four - party squad. My dreams have come true," Alistair chimed.

"I have a thought," Wynne commented. "Since we've come across several abandoned rooms of study and dragons, do you think this cult of Andraste's is up to something with the Urn?"

"If so, I can't wait to see it," I said. "Oh look, another dragonling wants to fight…"

_We cleared out twenty or so dragonlings within those bloody ice caverns. Good thing the trail of corpses served as a backtrack, for I would not know how many hours we would have spent searching for the exit without them._

_Our problems were (mostly) solved upon meeting Father Kolgrim, the head of the cultists. He was peculiarly interested in "helping" us to redeem ourselves from the mess we made, so I made an offer to tag along and followed him to the mountaintop. Of course, I was not stupid enough to bother defiling any sacred object within the temple, but sometimes one has to silver – tongue their way through before making the final blow, yes? If I had learned anything coming from a noble family, it's that one can't be too sincere with words. We proceeded to the mountaintop and Father Kolgrim called forth a mighty high dragon, claiming it was Andraste reborn (bullshit). Just as he was about to cement the agreement, we tackled him to the ground and initiated another great brawl worthy of Andraste's audience before proceeding to the entrance of the Gauntlet…_


	7. Chapter 7: Drudgery of Life as a Warden

**PART II: THE CHOSEN ONE**

_Hello, Alistair speaking here. Before you get a chance to think anything I want to just say that I'm NOT proud of who I am. Despite Rowan's claims of unblemished victory and his obsession with his sideburns, we would be hogwash without the help of countless others such as the Redcliffe militia and Arl Eamon. I think Mr. Cousland was just reminded of that after our encounter with the Guardian at the Gauntlet – for once, my desire for forgiveness all along was answered with the Maker's blessing…or sort of._

"You are being very quiet, considering how we nearly got annihilated by our doppelgangers back there," Wynne said to him while casting another healing spell on Leliana.

"Yes, well, I was just taking in the rejuvenating air of your spell, really…" Rowan answered nervously.

We sat in a quiet clearing amongst the woods at night, gathered around a small fire. The fight with the high dragon had nearly wiped us clean from the mountains had we not nearly exhausted our precious supply of health poultices. It would be another day's trek before we reached Redcliffe, which did no benefit to our spirits.

"_Right, _because that's something you would do," I answered peevishly. "So tell me 'Lord Cousland', how does it feel to be the one in charge all the time?"

"It _is _getting rather frustrating, now that you mention it. Besides, what's the point of all this mucking about? The dwarves won't elect a new leader any time soon, the Dalish aren't anywhere near traceable, and with each passing day it seems to rain more darkspawn."

"You see, part of being a Grey Warden is withstanding such headaches. And if you think that's unfair, just imagine what it would be like to be a bastard son – of – a – king, on top of that," I commented.

"I think I feel your woes, Alistair. But that Guardian…he knew what I was feeling," Rowan replied, face deep in contemplation for possibly the first time I have seen. "He saw into the deepest depths of my heart. I thought I had abandoned my past long ago."

"The past stays with you, even if you are not aware of it," Leliana said. "It may no longer be in your memory, but it has played a part in your soul."

"Ah, is this more of your polished Chantry blabbering I hear?" Morrigan retorted.

"Of course not. Surely even you cannot deny your upbringing. Has it not taught you all the skills you possess now, contributed to your identity?" Leliana replied.

"I – guess…"

"When you responded to the Guardian, Rowan, you said you wished you had done more to protect your mother and father," Wynne added. "You possess the true nobility of a Cousland, as much as you may deny your decision. Regret is powerful and can hold us back – you must muster the courage to control it."

_After that, as you can tell from Wynne's wisdom-ly gesture, things got serious. Such is the nature of confessions and enlightenment._

"The sun is rising. Shall we proceed to cure this Arl of yours before solemn overwhelms us and we all die of grief?" said Morrigan.

"Yes. This mountain fog is starting to cloud my senses. And let's hope that he remains sane after sniffing ashes," I responded.

"You lead this time," said Rowan, to which I complied irritatingly.


	8. Chapter 8: Casting the Net

Ch. 8: Casting the Net

_Journal Entry #3 (Alistair)_

_You know, the more days we manage to get through, the more I think about what would have happened had we fought beside the king at Ostagar. Would we still be brambling about in the forests, looking for missing acorns like squirrels gone mad on feastday? Would we even be talking about something as preposterous as entering flea heaven so we may parley with werewolves about a heart sacrifice?_

"I'm sure you would have despised life at the Chantry," Rowan remarked. "And you are not addicted to lyrium at least."

We had ventured deep into the Brecilian Forest, away from whatever infested countryside lands the darkspawn had long laid to waste. It was a nice change at least, with the precious offer unspoiled nature was able to provide; contrary to what the Cousland thinks, I must admit I rather enjoy such escapades for all the fresh air and clear waters, even if it was into the unknown.

"This forest has a particular air about it. There is a great deal of magic here," Wynne commented.

"Oh, what would we ever do without _magic_. Say, would drinking the waters give us magical powers?" Rowan questioned.

"I wish. Or we might all just turn into toads," I responded.

_Come to think of it, maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea. I wouldn't ever have to worry about being chased by an ogre and skewered alive; yes, and I can eat flies to my heart's content – _

"Hey look, a campsite," Zevran said, pointing ahead of us. "But I do not see any footprints around or animal tracks…"

We walked up to the small clearing near a waterfall, where four bedrolls were neatly laid out on the grounds. The campfire at the center was still warm, and the tent appeared as if it had never been soiled through its usage.

"This is…odd," said Rowan. "Who in their right minds would just abandon these things?"

"What does it matter? We could certainly use it," Zevran replied. "Besides, my bedsheet is starting to get dirty too, and my fair skin is rather averse to these cold Fereldan grounds."

"Would you advocate putting perfumes and scented flowers about camp, as well?"

"I would. A true Antivan is always classy."

As the three debated about whether or not to peruse the resources, my mind drifted off.

_Yes, and I would be free of worry, and one day a beautiful princess will come to deliver the one true kiss – _

"Wait," Rowan interrupted abruptly.

He then proceeded to slap my face.

"Wh – what was that for?!"

Suddenly everything became clear. We had been under the thrall of dark magic – a hungry shade.

"Aw, look, it wants to die," said Rowan nonchalantly as he rallied us for battle. "Discipline!"

The strangeness of the forest did not get any comprehensible. We fought more darkspawn, three ogres (one of which successfully slammed the Cousland into a pond and left us to fend for our lives through five painful minutes), werewolves, and walking trees. It seems we have earned the Maker's pity, for no joke could be crueler.

"The Dalish have always regarded the forest as sacred land that must be respected," said Wynne. "No doubt its guardians make that point clear."

It soon became easy to tell our return route from the un-ventured ones, due to the unprecedented number of sylvanwoods we had felled along the forest paths.

"_Trees. _Attacking us," Rowan jibed. "Now that's a great excuse for the Dalish when they come asking why we have 'pillaged' their lands. It's all because of 'murdering trees'."

"Ah, I must apologize Sir Rowan, I used an acid flask at the last minute when the three of you fell. Sadly my assassination skills are lacking in the foliage department," Zevran commented through a broken rib. "Maybe you can teach me to be a better axeman?"

"_Acid flask. _On a tree," Rowan replied. "The Dalish are going to have a field day…"

"It did the job. I am just that awesome."

Deeper into the forest we delved in the quest for the acorn. Alas, we found the link to our solution: an apostate hermit living in a stump. 'An answer for an answer, a question for a question', he says. It's as good an explanation as any for the madness of this place…


	9. Chapter 9: How to Crash a Party

Ch. 9: How to Crash a Party

So it seems I was to wear the fancy elven helmet that Rowan traded a ring for. Apparently it had magic – dispelling properties, and given the fact that I, Alistair the Templar, was often the target of malicious magic attacks for being the nail in the party, the Cousland intended it for me as a birthday gift.

"The Tevinter Dales have a strange sense of fashion," Rowan commented as I put on the unusually lightweight helmet.

_Great. Now I look like a fish._

"It's got fins and all. How charming," Leliana poked.

"Alright then, shall we proceed with chasing werewolves?"

Off we went into the ruins; with each battle that came, Leliana sang the captivating stories of the epic Wardens' glory and might. Her 'inspiring' performances served to our advantage for the most part, if she had only left out her version of 'the Brave Almighty Cousland'…

"_Bravely bold Sir Rowan rode forth from Highever, he was not afraid to die; oh, brave Sir Rowan, he was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways – "_

It was only a matter of time before we encountered a werewolf gang's ambush deep in the underground chambers.

"Could you at least stab a werewolf in the back for me when you say that, Leli?" I responded after bashing another werewolf with my shield. "The lyrics are rather distracting…"

"_He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp, or to have his eyes gouged out, and his elbows broken, and his kneecaps split, and his body burned away – "_

"That's enough music for now," Rowan commanded after ten minutes, getting up slowly from being floored by a werewolf in stealth.

"Yes, that it is. We'd all be deafened if you continued…"

"Do continue, Leliana, I find your version of the story very much entertaining," Wynne remarked. "It lessens the drabness of this hideout."

"Oh, certainly. Sorry for my delayed rescue, I'll try not to get too carried away next time," Leliana replied shyly.

The innumerable traps set up for us in the vast rooms of the ruins weren't any more welcoming, even if they did provide an opportunity for us to disarm and learn trap-making mechanics. Blasted mechanics; I was glad to be a templar and not an engineer.

"Maker, did I just lose an eyebrow?" I said abruptly, feeling my forehead. "I didn't step on another pressure plate, did I?"

"Keep that helmet on and you won't get flamed," Rowan responded from across the room.

"There," Leliana said from the middle of the trap room. "Disarmed."

"You could use a crossbow, you know. Saves you the trouble of walking across the room just to avenge a darkspawn archer," Rowan added.

"Of course! I know how to use a crossbow…I think…"

All was well as we plundered the ruins of any remaining treasures (and spirits), up until the point we met the Lady of the Ruins…er, Forest, and discovered Zathrian's betrayal. Long story short, we went into the werewolves' hideout, tried to reach a compromise for the attacks on the Dalish, and realized that Zathrian was playing ugly blood magic for revenge. Everyone had a massive spaz attack after that; the trees came alive, the werewolves became mysteriously paralyzed in their places, and shades emerged out of the walls.

"There will be no end to this curse! I will not allow it!" Zathrian announced.

"Deranged Dalish Keeper trying to make a point, fails, curses own clan, blames talking werewolves for being vicious as werewolves take revenge to prove their point, fail, and now try to compromise," Rowan said as he rubbed his brow irritatingly, moments before being surrounded. "What is the point of being a Grey Warden, so we can solve other people's problems? Blasted acorns! Nevermind. Our strategy, everyone: pummel Zathrian!"

"_Trololololololol, Tralalalala – " _Leliana progressed epically.

"Shut up, you fools! Get out of my way!" Zathrian ordered as he prepared to cast a blizzard.

"So you can bring down the ceiling on us? Surely you're joking," said Rowan, firing a scattershot.

"Oh no you don't - !" I tackled the suicidal maniac to the ground, ignoring the stupid gnarled roots from another one of those murderous sylvanwood trees trying to ensnare me.

_The ensuing chaos left us with little choice but to side with the werewolves; Rowan demanded that we receive compensation for the trouble, and got a spell – resistant shield from Swiftrunner the human in return. Siding with what's right always seems to come at great costs, as Duncan would say, but given how things could have been, I'm glad we did. As the hermit would say, it's a fair trade…for once._


	10. Chapter 10: Zevran's Experiment

**PART III: PASSION IS RED, VIOLENCE IS BLUE**

Ch. 10: Zevran's Experiment

_Journal Entry #4 (Zevran speaking)_

_Ferelden seems to be getting more depressing by the day. Despite my efforts to freshen the aroma of camp through my lighting of scented candles along the tents and blankets, the darkspawn never pass an opportunity to disrupt my artisanship, as we were rudely interrupted one night during an ambush._

"We'd best be on the lookout. Camp isn't safe anymore," Alistair observed, after the attack was over.

"We should put fortifications around the border, not flowers," Sten added curtly.

"Oh, but I beg to differ. Who knows, it may be the distinctively colorful appearance of this place that is helping to drive them off," I replied. "Or maybe the smell of lavender…"

_It recently came to my attention that the Wardens have had little to enjoy themselves. Despite our progress so far reaching Orzammar, they appeared to be none the merrier, or even hopeful…now, we couldn't have such downtrodden spirits in an important time like this, could we? If there is anything the Antivans pride themselves in, it's in the excitement of challenges and danger._

I decided to test the waters when Rowan approached me and asked if everything was still intact.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I even helped remove the dead shrieks off your sleeping area," I responded happily. "There was a lot of blood, but I think the candles helped to remove the stench."

"What? Y– you killed them on top of my blanket?!" Rowan stammered.

"No. They just happened to be standing there. I think they are drawn to the smell of the taint. Tsh – tsh, look at the lines around your eyes, you must be exhausted from all this fighting, and imagine the stress!" I suggested with my infamously irresistible smile.

"You are not helping."

"Maybe you should blow off steam, rejuvenate yourself with a massage perhaps. Well, if you so desire, I can offer you some of my special services; someone as upstanding and handsome as the Grey Warden surely does deserve a little help every so often, no?"

"Are you…flattering me?" Rowan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"And why not? It's not often that I meet a skilled, cunning and confident Warden; I hope you are not thinking about it disparagingly, I certainly would be flattered myself."

"I can appreciate that, Zevran. But I think I'll find other ways to amuse myself for now…like hacking this dummy of Howe…" he said meekly while walking towards the makeshift target practice area of the camp.

"No? Aw, that's too bad then. Well, let me know if you change your mind."

_I could not blame him, of course. I cannot imagine the confusion and mind-numbing conflicts occupying his mind at present, for their jobs are incomprehensibly vast and many, from killing darkspawn to rallying unwilling allies against this Loghain. What did strike me curious, however, was the subtle change in personality amongst the Wardens – it seemed as if they had slowly abandoned their need for relaxation or fun, as you would expect from normal behavior. Even Alistair appeared grimmer than before. They are stubbornly addicted to the tasks at hand; I imagine the darkspawn feel the same way as well, if not for their complete lack of compassion._

_Perhaps the taint was to blame. I do not know if darkspawn feel any "love" towards each other, but perhaps they feel a sort of "kinship" amongst their kind; thank goodness for the existence of such a connection, or I fear the Wardens' lack of patience for even romantic endeavors might compromise their humanity…although I suppose all this gung-ho does make them more manly…Ah, Zevran fantasizes again. But that is enough standing about for now, I feel Wynne's watchful eyes on me again…_


	11. Chapter 11: Nug Wrangling 101

Ch. 11: Nug Wrangling 101

_Journal Entry #5_

_Aye, name's Oghren here. And I don't have much of a life besides drinking, not with Branka gone and the sodding Assembly stuck quarrelling over the stupid throne. I told them if they were only willing to look after a Paragon, then maybe they would have gotten this problem fixed long ago. Just tell em' to toss a coin into the air and call it fifty – fifty, with the Paragon calling the shots._

"Ugh, your breath is lethal," a fanny golden – haired boy commented one day at Tapster's.

"Sodding right it is, and I'm just getting warmed up," I said, taking another swig of ale. "Someone's gonna get hurt real bad…"

"Are you Oghren? I've heard about you," said another man next to him with interesting sideburns.

"Eh? Who the bloody hell are you?"

"I'm Rowan of the Grey Wardens. Let's see, unmistakable red beard, foul breath, and half the size of your own weapon. _You _are the one I'm looking for," he replied.

"Maybe it's the drink, but whether or not you're really a Grey Warden does not explain why a practical – looking person like you would be meddling with Mr. Fanny there."

"Fanny? Is that supposed to be a compliment?" the man (who's name I found out was Alistair) laughed.

_Yes, call me stupid, but by the stone I had not expected to meet such company during times like this. I only found out later about their plans to not only break the Assembly deadlock, but to also go tunneling through the Deep Roads like a vacation venture looking for Branka. And the deshyrs say I'm the crazy one._

_Needless to say I was excited. There's nothing like breaking darkspawn in half with these random nug runners who fight like no tomorrow. I should have known braving the Dead Trenches was the easy part…after finding Branka and discovering what she had become, Blight or not, I sodding wanted to flame a duster. After that whole ordeal with Caridin's Cross and the Anvil, nothing came out the better. We blew off steam with some drinking, of course, and by the ancestors those humans have good ale; but I stayed in the tavern when they wanted me to help with capturing rogue nugs. Sure I hated my life, but I wasn't sodding desperate._

"I propose putting a nug on the throne," Rowan announced after we left the Deep Roads and received the Orzammar crown from Caridin. "Does anyone take issue?"

"I think it'd very quickly end up in a cage, or on someone's dinner plate," Alistair commented.

"Good point. Perhaps we should just wait and see if Orzammar boils over from all the heat."

"You agreed to help Harrowmont out of sympathy for his plights. You can't possibly give up now, or consider letting a tyrant like Bhelen take power?" Wynne objected.

"Actually, I got so annoyed of their games so I decided to go brute force method in the Proving ring," Rowan answered bluntly. "Thank you, Wynne, for your cooperation. Spritely for your age indeed, they would have mistaken you for a gladiator…"

"Now that's an interesting image," Alistair said.

_Who the Wardens chose as king made no difference to me. Hell, the only fealty I'll ever swear will be towards my trusty ditch drink. I didn't care after I eventually started following them into nug wrangling and betting nug fights before breaking out to the surface, because I had nothing else to live for…maybe because I was also drunk._

_Well, at least fanny – boy Alistair has some use bringing in some cold hard coin. I'll be spending some time in Tapster's before stepping out of my stone sense…_


	12. Chapter 12: D-Days in Denerim

Ch. 12: D – Days in Denerim

_Journal Entry #6 (Rowan strikes again)_

_Hello again, journal. You must be a remarkably lucky piece of work to have been graced by the presence of a Grey Warden AND a Cousland both. To tell the truth, I've wondered how you've been able to withstand repeated beatings, tearing, staining and dropping without falling apart; after all I have used you as an emergency shield against a genlock at one point. I suspect Wynne's magic at work here…wait, has she been reading my journal? _

"So let me get this right. We nearly lost our minds in the Fade, killed a dragon to get a pinch of the sacred ashes, tomb – raided cursed Dalish ruins, flushed mommy darkspawn out the Deep Roads, and exorcised Eamon's kid so that we can delay calling a Landsmeet in spite of these treaties," Alistair recounted. "I bet Duncan is rolling in his grave right now."

"I think Anora's bluffing; Loghain wouldn't possibly threaten the only love of his life. Well, if she wishes to play princess, I won't hesitate with this opportunity to make a special appointment with Howe…" I said, flexing my knuckles.

"Oh of course, that's going to make our jobs so much easier," Alistair replied sarcastically. "And being the future king is just going to be icing on the cake…"

"That said, I want no suspicions about your involvement, Alistair. You will stay here with Eamon – Leliana, Zevran, Wynne, and I are going to pay those 'blighted thunderhumpers' a visit."

"Oh, I get to come along? How fun!" Zevran said. "I'm going to enjoy the irony – "

_True to my word, we headed straight for Howe's estate. Getting in was the easy part – Anora's maid was delirious when I refused her plans for disguising ourselves, but personally I thought it made our mission all the more dignifying. Besides, their armor was ugly and smelly. We gave the soldiers a nice earthquake drill before hacking the rest of our bloody way in._

"Well well, Cousland's little boy, all grown up, and still trying to fit into daddy's shoes," Howe sneered after we had finally crashed his little meeting by blowing a massive hole in the wall.

"You nug – humping, dirt – smelling, troll – nose picking, pestilent eye – offending, yeasty lily – livered sheep – eating barnacle!" I bellowed.

"I thought Loghain made it clear that your pathetic little family – "

"COUSLAND SMASH!"

"_He was not in the least bit scared, to have his head smashed in while unprepared, his liver removed and his bowels unplugged, and his nostrils raped and his bottom burned up – " _Leliana sang while summoning Smokey, her bear, to help.

_There was not a lot of maneuvering room, as I recall repeatedly running into the wooden pillars. At one point we had defeated Howe's cronies, but Howe himself was not so easily fazed. Next thing I knew, Wynne bit the dust, Zevran was incapacitated by a mage and I was left to fend for myself while Leliana continued singing._

"Need a little rest here!" I called nervously. "Go after the bear, you wimp!"

"_He bravely ran away. Bravely ran away away, oh brave Sir Rowan – "_

_Lies!_

_I must have blacked out after that, because I did not remember hearing Howe get mauled by Smokey, as I was told. Howe was ever fervent in trying to turn me into a pincushion._

"Aha, not so fast!" Zevran taunted as he came to the rescue, both weapons coated with Crow poison. "Next time!"

_Zevran dealt the finishing blow, and as much as I wanted to be conscious to see it, I felt perhaps it was better to have Loghain's formerly employed assassin insult Howe's memory one last time before they dragged me off to Fort Drakon…_


	13. Chapter 13: Bringing Down the House

**PART IV: NO SYMPATHY FOR THE CORRUPT AND WICKED**

Ch. 13: Bringing Down the House

_Ugh, Fort bloody Drakon. What a piss house; whoever came up with this establishment is either really draconic or psychotic. Maybe both; I can imagine why they'd drag me off to rot in this place._

"Well, you look alive and well," said a ragged inmate, who was standing next to my cell. "What are you in for?"

I had barely just woke from being unconscious yet again, and looked down to see that I had no clothes or pants on.

"I killed Rendon Howe," I replied bitterly.

"That's a crime? More like a favor," the inmate said.

_Maker, I knew I should have taken Ser Cauthrien's men out; now they don't even have the dignity to keep me awake while stripping all my belongings and dumping me here._

"I swear, as soon as I get out I'm going to smash them all to a pulp, and by the time I'm finished Loghain won't have any sesame cake crumbs left at that estate!"

"You sound confident. You sure someone's coming for ya?"

_Why, Alistair of course. He couldn't possibly manage without someone to complain to about his bloodline. No doubt he would be accompanied by Leliana, for without her and Smokey he's just a sitting duck._

"Well, lucky you. I've got half my supply of hay left and I sure as hell won't last long…"

_I had no intention of staying any longer than I wished to, but at the same time I could not help but feel a bitter resentment towards the guards and their superiors who had volunteered to take such distasteful jobs. Loghain vilified the Orlesian enslavement of Ferelden, but surely such talk is hollow in light of these abuses I had witnessed within the city walls; Maker forbid we repeat the history that has compelled us to liberate the Free Marches…_

"I have a point to make," I said. "If I free you, will you wreck havoc in here and make sure that Vaughan – if he were to become Arl – suffers continuous rat infestations?"

"I'd believe you. But you have no idea how much I've wanted to do that since I got here," said the old man.

"Now is the chance to make your dream come true. That is your atonement; I will even pay you once I get the chance, eh?"

"Sounds like a deal."

_Time crawled away as I waited on the cold stone ground of the prison and the man proceeded to mutter incoherent phrases while lashing out against the air around him. In between his episodes of fury I heard the horrid screams of the torture victims on the floor below us, their abusers cackling hideously like the darkspawn themselves. Once Alistair and Leliana had arrived (about bloody time) and I opened the door to his cell, I did not see him again. I know not if my father had locked up war prisoners, but I knew that from this day forth...if we even survive the Blight...I would never subject any enemy of mine to such abhorrent practices._


	14. Chapter 14: Bringing Down the House II

Ch. 14: Bringing Down the House Part II

_Journal Entry #7 (Alistair's back!)_

_Now that we got the Cousland back, it's time to settle things straight. I still don't appreciate being volunteered to the throne, but I suppose after what Anora has put us through, there's no denying Loghain's shrewdness. The flashbacks of Ostagar haven't waned, and – you would not have guessed it – my patience was really starting to go. Turns out the dwarf has a good cause in berserking, because it was the only thing I felt like doing at this point._

_So one evening at Eamon's estate as we dined on delicious turkey meat, mashed potato, Old Flagon's red wine and strawberry mince pie dessert to celebrate Rowan's return, I mustered the courage to talk with Oghren._

"So…that's your fifth glass there," I said meekly. "Can you teach me how you do that, use drinks to fuel your berserker rage?"

"Huh? Heheh, this ain't my fifth glass fannyboy, it's the first amongst many, many orgasms," Oghren replied luridly.

"Right, forget I said anything," I said quickly. This seemed tougher than I thought.

" – so I made love to her all night, and the next morning I finally broke it to her; I was an assassin tasked with killing her, and I could not fail lest I lose my life," Zevran continued, recounting a story of one of his contracts. "I apologized incessantly, of course, and she felt shocked and sorry at the same time. I think she sympathized with me, because when I sank the blade into her heart, she did not resist."

"Yer sodding beast, that was mighty dramatic!" Oghren complimented.

_Do I ever meet anyone sane in my life?_ I muttered to myself.

"To Rowan Cousland, the mightiest Grey Warden, avenger of the just!"

_After we had all but finished the scraps, we retired to our rooms for the night. The Landsmeet had been called, and Loghain was sure to bring plenty of ammunition against us. I did not sleep and instead spent half the night reading on how to make persuasion speeches, looking "nobly", and proper dining etiquette in the library. To say that I was nervous is an understatement. _

_Just when I had figured out on which side of the plate to place the fork, Leliana rushed into the room I was reading in._

"Oh, you're up...what are you doing so early?" she asked.

"I was – uh…" I stuttered, quickly closing the book about royal courtship. "Just leafing through some books on Ferelden's history of kings…"

She raised a suspicious eyebrow. Bluffing a bard was impossible, as far as I knew.

"Uh, nevermind. Carry on."

"Arl Eamon requests that you get ready as soon as you are able; we are gathering at the royal palace soon."

"Of course, I'll be on it," I said, barely suppressing the urge to hurl.

_The tension in the air was no joke. When we had arrived, Eamon had already began rallying the nobles for support against the conspirators, and it was only minutes later that Loghain presented himself._

"A spectacular performance, Eamon, but none of us are taken by it," he announced to the assembly. "Tell us, Warden, how will the Orlesians take our nation from us?"

"The Blight is the problem now, not Orlais!" Rowan countered.

_The argument progressed for a great length about Loghain's crimes against the nation before the attention was turned to me, much to my dismay._

"If he were a true son of Maric, I would not hesitate to swear fealty to him," Loghain rebuked. "But I see nothing of Maric in this pup."

_Yes, because of my hair, no doubt. Regardless, chaos eventually erupted and the Landsmeet Chamber would have been reduced to rubble had it not been for the Grand Cleric's intervention. She suggested that the matter be settled through a traditional duel, to which I was again volunteered by the Cousland. I don't think my legs held up nicely after that._


	15. Chapter 15: Victory and All Before It

Ch. 15: Victory and All that Came Before It

_Journal Entry #7 (Leliana's retelling)_

"_In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice." That is the motto of the Grey Wardens, and although I hail from Orlais, I can tell that these Fereldans have no doubt in their hearts of their loyalty to the land during this impending war. Without the brave actions of our heroes, we would not be where we are now, and the Blight would have taken even Orlais. Obviously the Wardens have sacrificed much to fuel this effort; Loghain's execution was inevitable after the Landsmeet, and although all of us agreed on the need for such justice, the final blow was cruel and unrelenting. The weight of Ferelden's losses were heavy, and as the dawn of the final onslaught drew near, I could not help but feel remorse, almost like I feared losing the remains of what I have grown to love about Ferelden through my travels with my friends._

_I had not thought about the instant I 'accidentally' ran into Rowan during that fateful night. He appeared calm, all things considering, and I wondered what the Warden Riordan had talked to him and Alistair about. I could not help but feel an obligation to let him the young Cousland know that I had put all my faith in his success and prayed to the Maker for his safe return…perhaps I feel ashamed to admit that I had feelings for him, but it was neither the time nor place._

"You are a Grey Warden, and should be proud of that title," I said. "You have been a better friend than I could have hoped for, one who has taught me how to let go of past regrets so that we can remake the future."

"Ah, you are too kind, Leliana. I am confident you will be a good leader in Denerim's defense. You should be praying for Alistair; Maker, I hope that armor of his is enough to buffer him from the archdemon," Rowan replied through weary, darkened eyes.

"Alistair will make a great king. I am sure of it; and what a blessing it has been for him to have walked the battlefield with someone like you. Your mother and father would be proud."

_Despite hints of sorrow in his eyes at their mention, he nodded briefly in acknowledgment, then left to rest for night; but not before I tugged him into a last embrace. _

_The following morning, the sound of the marching horn echoed across the plains as the ghastly call of battle became forever branded into my memory._


	16. Chapter 16: In Uthenera

Ch. 16: In Uthenera

_Journal Entry #8_

_I, Fergus Cousland, proudly write to you the last of the tale of my brother's heroic sacrifice. I still remember the days when he would run about the castle, poking guards in retaliation for having been left without his sword to play with when he was six. Always quick on the defense, he would blame youthful boredom whenever father lectured him. Despite our time growing up together, I only knew him as a younger brother who had a penchant for archery, pranks, witty conversations and a soft spot for his dog Wonderwall. _

_Had I known earlier of whom he has grown to be and accomplished, I would have allocated all my efforts, resources, and life to honor the Cousland memory so that we may again champion our family's dreams. I had returned too late…but now that Highever had been returned to our authority and the lands of the Amaranthine granted to the Grey Wardens, the least I can do is to continue to burgeon the legacy of the only true brother I have ever known: Sir Rowan Cousland, the Grey Warden who has given his life so that the future of Ferelden may prosper._


End file.
